


Four Kisses And A Wedding

by dylanofuckme (theplaidchesters)



Series: Four Kisses And A Wedding [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dry Humping, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Heather/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, i hope that means they both enjoy taking it up their asses bc thEY DO, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplaidchesters/pseuds/dylanofuckme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're not making out again!"</p><p>In which Stiles and Derek swallow each other's tongues four times, and then there's a wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Kisses And A Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratonzita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratonzita/gifts), [ZainClaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZainClaw/gifts).



Stiles thinks it’s Joni Mitchell – the one with the blonde hair and horse-looking face. His mom likes her because she sings prettily and her hair is even prettier, so of course Stiles remembers Joni Mitchell, though he doesn’t recognize the song they’re playing. He sits there, trying to come up with the name of the song, and it’s useless: he starts crying again, head resting on his knees, and manages to focus in Joni’s voice, sweet and mellow.

But it doesn't matter right now; what matters, is that his mom can barely get out of bed and every day that goes by, she looks paler and paler. The dark circles under her eyes chase him when he sleeps, and her tired voice can’t even sing _Blue Moon_ anymore.

And then his dad, resting on that hospital bed.

He just wants to be at home, not here – at a freaking camp. His parents sent him here, they said, to forget all about school and Beacon Hills’ lame summer time. Why do they think Stiles wants to spend three weeks surrounded by strangers when his mom and dad are clearly not okay, it beats him.

The weather is nice, warm during daytime and chilly when the sun sets; the meals aren’t terrible, he’ll give them that; kayaking isn’t bad, either. Leaders are a little bit pushy for Stiles’ taste, and some of the boys and girls are too spoiled to be healthy.

Luckily, there’s _him_ – though it’s not like Stiles knows him at all. They call him Der, and Stiles would give his entire eleven-year life savings to know his real name.

It’s the last day and he still doesn’t know it. But he won’t ask around; people might get suspicious, and Stiles prefers to stay in the dark than being bombarded with questions.

His team’s Leader name is Anthony – Tony, for the friends; apparently, they’re now Tony's friends, which is kind of lame – and spends the meals with Der. _His_ team is the one with the little kids, and he’s incredibly patient with them. Stiles used to stare at him in awe when he comforted them if any of the kids got hurt, shushing them with such tenderness it made Stiles’ heart clench in his chest. He sang to them, too – most of the time, it was The Beatles. In other occasions, it was Elvis. The kids probably didn’t even know about them, but they still danced around him and hugged him after the song ended.

Stiles envied them. He still does. It’s childish, he knows.

He wipes away a lonely tear, and sniffs loudly.

“Hi.”

Stiles swears his soul took a quick trip to the moon, and when he turns to see who dared to take a seat right next to him, he gets tongue-tied in 0.05 seconds.

“I’m Derek,” the boy says, looking at him from over a shoulder. “You’re Stiles, right? One of Tony’s?”

It feels incredibly good to finally know his real name, but that doesn’t untie his tongue and his mouth feels numb and heavy. He manages a short nod and looks before him; the dock shines with the golden lights wrapped around the posts.

Stiles can feel Derek’s eyes on him. “You okay? Are you – Were you crying?”

 _Fantastic_. “No,” Stiles blurts out. However, he blows his cover when he wipes away yet another tear with the back of his hand. When he turns to face Derek, he’s staring at him, eyebrows up to his hairline. “Maybe, what do you care?”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He raises both hands, as if he were surrounding. “I was just asking – one can get a bit lonely around here, you know. Do you want me to call one of the counselors? You could talk to them.”

“No, definitely no.”

“Sure?”

See? Leaders are pushy. “Yes, it’s nothing. Drop it.”

“One doesn’t just cry over nothing.” Derek twists his body so he’s facing Stiles, and he looks truly worried, eyebrows furrowed and everything. “I’m gonna call a counselor –“

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles snaps, pointing a finger at Derek. “I said no, oh my god. If I tell you, will you stop asking questions?”

Derek nods, expectant eyes on him. “It’s stupid, okay? Don’t laugh.” They share a pinky promise and Stiles shifts on his spot, uncomfortable. “Well, my mom’s sick – like, really sick; something to do with her brain, I don’t know. She has to take a lot of meds, go to the doctor five times a week…” He tries to speak as fast as he can, avoiding looking at Derek. “Also, my dad had a heart attack last month, so they sent me here to spare me the sight of my parents slowly dying –“

“You don’t know that,” Derek cuts in, quickly.

“Well, I know they are.” He gulps down the rest of his rant; his parents’ condition is not supposed to be a theme of conversation. When he arrived at this camp, he swore to himself he wouldn’t talk about it to anyone, and now he’s here, doing exactly that.

Stiles calls it The Derek Effect.

At Derek’s silence, Stiles shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Whatever, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not – you have the right to cry if you want to.”

He snorts so loudly that the noise that leaves his mouth is actually a disgusting one, but he doesn’t flinch when Derek’s eyes stay glued to his head; does this dude know he’s being creepy or does it escape his knowledge? God, when did it get so hot?

“So… everyone’s kissing,” Derek speaks at last.

Stiles sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I see that.”

“I think we should kiss.”

There’s a five-second silence in which Stiles doesn’t know whether to agree immediately or punch this guy’s nose. He’d probably break his fingers if he did the latter.

“I just told you my mom might die and you’re suggesting—?”

Derek scrunches up his entire face. He’s still attractive. “Look, I’m bad at comforting people, okay?" That’s a lie, because Stiles has seen him comforting kids, petting them and carrying them on his back. "If it makes you feel any better, both of my parents are dead and I live with my horrible uncle and my two annoying sisters.”

“Actually, it makes me feel even worse. Do you—?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Derek cuts in. “It was bad, it still is, but it happened and I can’t do anything to change it, I can’t bring them back. So… I’m sorry about your mom, I hope she gets well soon, I hope your dad doesn’t get another heart attack, and whatnot. Now, what do you say about that kiss?”

 _I say hell yeah!_ “Thank you for your wishes, but I think I’m gonna pass.”

“Why?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Aw, come on. They say kisses make everything better.”

“Who says that? I don’t think it’s an actual saying; you’re just making that up so you can stick your tongue down my throat.”

Derek’s attempt to hide a smirk fails spectacularly. “I think you’re going too fast, cowboy.”

Most of the couples have left the dock and it’s only the two of them with a pair of lovebirds and a Guardian. The speakers are now playing the second woman he loves the most, and he fights back the urge to cry his eyes out.

Stiles ignores the involving warmth that is Derek’s skin, and asks: “Why?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Why what?”

“Why do you wanna kiss me? I mean, I am a boy.”

The guy doesn’t even faze. “And?”

“We’re not supposed to kiss.”

Derek looks at Stiles like he feels sorry for him. “Says who?”

He crosses his arms, trying not to sniff so loudly. “People, in general; like, my uncle Sieger says –“

“Your uncle Sieger doesn’t know shit,” Derek cuts in. He seems pissed off. “If you don’t wanna do it, that’s fine – you’re scared, I get it. But you’ve been watching me these past three weeks, don’t you think I didn’t notice.”

Stiles feels his cheeks burning. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, though. I’ve been watching you too.”

“Creep.”

Derek offers him a kind smile that has Stiles looking down in embarrassment. He tries to ignore the tingling feeling he gets all over his limbs when Derek shifts closer to him. They’re practically leg-to-leg, and he can see Derek’s pinky trying to make its way to Stiles’ cargo pants.

His favorite is still singing. Stiles wants her to shut up; she’s going make him cry.

“You didn’t answer the other question,” Stiles says. “Why do you wanna do it?”

The asshole shrugs. “Because.”

“Try harder.”

His eyes burn like a thousand stars and it feels wonderful. Stiles thinks he might be a little bit in love. “You’re cute.”

“Cute?”

“Your cheeks are cute… your nose, too.”

Stiles palms both of his cheeks. “They’re meatballs, not cheeks.”

Derek laughs, head thrown back and crinkled eyes. “They’re the cutest. And your mouth.”

“What about my mouth?” Stiles asks, forming a thin line with his lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

Yes, he’s in love.

“You’re what, twelve? You're just saying that.”

Derek shakes his head. “I'm _thirteen_ , and I mean it.”

When he thinks about it, the scenario couldn’t be more perfect: it’s way past his usual curfew (probably around nine pm or even later), it’s a starry night (the starriest of them all), and the lights tangled around the lampposts resemble Stiles’ favorites – the fireflies. Besides, the music… it’s perfect. Even his mom would tell him to go for it.

“Okay,” he says.

Derek’s smile is blinding. “Yeah?” When Stiles nods, Derek shifts a little bit closer. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I dunno, ‘coz that’s how people kiss.”

“But what if this is a trap? Are you gonna make fun of me because I like boys?”

For the first time since they met, Derek actually looks pissed. “Why on Earth would I make fun of you for liking boys? In case you haven’t noticed, I like boys, too!”

“Yeah, but what if—?”

“Could you stop asking questions and just trust me?”

 “We met like, twenty minutes ago!”

“And yet, you’re letting me kiss you.”

Stiles feels hot all of a sudden. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are now bright red. “Well, we’re not kissing now, are we?”

“That’s because you keep talking and asking dumb questions. I can’t kiss you if you’re mouth is moving.” To Stiles’ shock, Derek’s features soften as he shifts even closer. Their noses could bump if one of them chose to lean forward just the slightest. “Are you nervous?”

Shitless. “N-No.”

He smiles and wets his lips, oh God, he smells like grass and cold wind. “You’re lying. Have you ever kissed anybody?”

“Y-Yes,” he stammers, blinking rapidly. Oh, if only his dad were there – he’d know he was lying in a second. But apparently, Derek knows this too; he raises his eyebrows and they practically reach his hairline. He’s being awfully honest to a boy he’s just met. “If by somebody you mean the tender crook of my elbow, and my cousin Brygida when I was like two years old.”

“Who the hell names their child Brygida?”

“Polish people, I suppose,” Stiles says, shrugging.

“You’re polish?”

“Mom’s side.”

Derek shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “Why are we talking about polish people? We’re supposed to be kissing!”

“You asked.”

A hand comes up and suddenly, there’s a thumb stroking one of Stiles’ cheeks. “I’m going to do it now,” Derek whispers, smiling a little bit wider. “Okay?”

“Fine,” Stiles says. “But my eyes stay open.”

“It’s gonna be awkward that way.”

“Whatever, just get over with it.”

“I love your enthusiasm,” Derek half-laughs, half-mutters, and then it happens.

His first kiss… at summer camp.

Derek’s lips are dry – they’re barely touching Stiles’, to be honest. In fact, they’re just there, doing nothing. His eyes are closed, but not completely, as Stiles notices right away. “You’re peeking!” Stiles snaps, flinching back. “You said eyes were supposed to be closed!”

“You had yours opened!”

“That’s ‘coz I thought it was some sort of trick, I dunno!”

Derek lets out a tired sigh. “I can’t win with you. I’m leaving – I have Leader tasks tomorrow at six am, it’s gonna be torture.” He examines Stiles carefully; the joy and smiles are gone, replaced by exhaustion and bitterness. “Nice meeting you.”

For a second, Stiles sits there, accepting willingly that he’s not worth Derek’s time, but then he remembers: he didn’t even get a proper kiss!

Derek must not leave until he gives him a real kiss.

“Wait!” Stiles squeaks; he grabs Derek’s arm when he tries to stand up and leave, and Stiles might have put a little bit more force than necessary in the grip. Derek freezes, eyes darting between Stiles’ face and Stiles’ fingers, wrapped tightly around his forearm. His lips are slightly opened, and he looks so pretty. “Another.”

“What?”

Stiles gulps down his cowardice. “Another. The kiss sucked.”

“That’s because you finished it before I could do anything!” And… okay, the boy looks upset – ashamed, even.

“Okay, okay! Gee, we’re doing it again, okay? Sit.”

Derek obeys, grumpily. It suits him, Stiles decides. Being grumpy makes him look even cuter. “Not your dog,” he grits out. However angry he is, he manages to sit very closely to Stiles; so close, their legs and shoulders are pressed together. “Have it your way, then.”

_I got this, I got this_ _…_

He leans forward – he’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous with his duck face trying to impress that boy next to him, but what the hell. The song the speakers are playing is one of his mom’s favorites, so he feels a little bit emotional. Instead of crying buckets like he wants to, he shuts his eyes closed and—

_As they say, I don’t got this._

Another pair of lips meets his, and they’re not dry anymore: they’re wet and warm, and even if they just lay there, motionless, Stiles could die like a happy boy. But then, Derek does this thing with his mouth – Stiles isn’t very sure what happens. There’s the sudden feel of the lips parting and then catching his lower lip, and oooohkay, it feels spectacular.

_I definitely don’t got this._

Stiles mirrors Derek’s movement, and traps his upper lip. Derek chuckles into the kiss. “Copycat,” he whispers.

“I think I prefer fast learner, thank you,” Stiles says, giving Derek a quick, chaste peck before pulling back. He scratches at his nape, looking everywhere except at Derek’s eyes. “That was cool.”

“Cooler than the first?”

“Definitely.”

The woman playing through the speakers reaches the high note. Stiles starts seeing a bit blurry – it must mean he’s crying. Great.

“Hey, you’re okay?”

Stiles wipes away the lonely tear rolling down his cheek. “Yeah, just – the singer.”

Derek narrows his eyes as he focuses on the music. “You’re crying over Billie Holiday?”

“You like her?” Stiles asks, stunned.

“My sister likes her. Her songs are catchy.”

When there’s nothing else to say, Stiles explains himself – he doesn’t know why. He’s already established a zero-bullshitting policy when it comes to Derek. The Derek Effect, yet again. “The song… my mom sings it to me from time to time.”

“Oh,” Derek says. He shifts a bit. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Stiles tries to shrug and smile like it doesn’t matter. “You kinda suck at comforting, so it’s whatever.”

Derek punches him in the arm. It doesn’t hurt. “Rude.”

The nearest speaker blares out: “Attention, Explorers: time to return to your bunkers! Big day, tomorrow! Get some sleep. Guardians are in charge.”

The message repeats itself a few more times before dying out. There are no more Joni Mitchell’s songs, and thankfully they don’t play anymore Holiday, so it’s just the silence and the crickets now.

“Have you packed?” Derek asks. At Stiles’ nod, he stands up and offers him a hand. “I’ll take you to your bunker. Come on.”

They don’t hold hands as they walk towards Stiles’ bunker, and that’s okay. He still goes to bed with a silly smile plastered across his face.

His dad picks him up the next day, and going by the look on his face, things aren’t going exactly well at home.

**Author's Note:**

> See you next week!


End file.
